Kidnapped by the Billionaire (38 page)

The rage boiled up inside him again and he almost crushed the phone in his hand. Then he realized Eva was speaking.

“Gabriel, Alex, and Zac are on their way to get her,” she was saying. “And since Katya and I were down this end of Manhattan, we were stuck with getting you.”

Those pricks were already on their way to get her? While he was stuck here? Fuck that.

Gripping Eva's phone and completely ignoring Katya, he began to move off the Esplanade toward the streets where he could flag down a taxi and follow that rapidly moving dot.

“Wait,” Eva ordered sharply.

He ignored her.

“You're going after her?” Eva was now following him, walking quickly to catch up, Katya behind her.

He didn't want to waste time talking to her or to her friend. There was only one thing that seemed important—getting to Violet. Christ, he didn't even know if she was alive. With that tracking device in her sweater, she could be dead and he could be following her body.

Beneath his rage, fear threaded like a cold current through a hot spring.

You could lose her.

No. He wasn't going to lose her. He wasn't going to lose her like he lost Marie.

“We have a car, Mr. Hunt,” Katya said unexpectedly.

He didn't bother turning around. “Then fucking take me to it.”

“Zac and the others will get her.” Eva's voice was slightly breathless. “They're already on their way. Why don't you—”

He stopped and turned around, so suddenly that she was forced to backtrack to prevent from bumping into him. But he didn't care. He stared at her, allowing the rage to finally fill him up so that there was no cold anywhere. No fear. Nothing that could make him weak because right now he couldn't afford to be weak. “
I
will get her,” he said forcefully, savagely. “Not them. Me.” He stared at Eva then at Katya, letting them see the burning rage inside him. “She's
mine.
And I will kill anyone who gets in my way, do you understand?”

*   *   *

Violet came slowly to consciousness feeling like she had the world's worst hangover. Her head ached and her mouth was dry, and she felt vaguely dizzy. And when she opened her eyes, her vision was blurry, and she had to blink hard to clear it.

She was sitting in a ratty old armchair in a tidy but very low-rent apartment. Threadbare carpet and dingy wallpaper, a chintzy couch that had clearly seen better days, and a battered wooden coffee table covered in white rings from a thousand different cups.

Where the hell was this? And what the hell had happened to her?

Last thing she remembered was that crowd gathering around Jericho and then backing away, only to have someone's hand cover her mouth and nose, and then … nothing.

She looked down, expecting to see bonds of some kind, but her arms and legs were free. She also seemed to be alone in the room.

Weird. What kind of kidnapping was this?

Putting her hands on the arms of the chair, she began to push herself out of it. She froze as a man walked through the doorway that led off to another part of the apartment.

A tall man. He had blond hair, deep tawny at the roots, then fading to gilt at the tips. Much like her own. But his eyes weren't the same color as hers. His were as green and gold as fall leaves.

He was impossibly, stunningly handsome.

But then he always had been.

Halfway out of the chair, Violet's arms refused to work and she collapsed back into it, a curious roaring in her ears. She couldn't stop staring. Was she going to faint? Certainly it felt like it, which would just be ridiculous considering what she'd endured over the last few days and all without passing out like a Victorian virgin.

Then again, it wasn't every day that you saw a dead man.

He didn't speak, coming over to her chair and standing in front of it. His clothing was simple, dark charcoal trousers and a deep-green business shirt open at the neck, no tie. He had his hands in his pockets, the look on his face impossible to read.

Her voice wouldn't work, and she had to try at least three times before she could even make a sound. “Th-Th-Theo?”

There was a long moment where he didn't speak, just looked at her. And then slowly, he smiled, the heartbreaking, breathtaking smile she remembered from years ago, the adored older brother who helped her with her homework on his visits back home from college, who'd taught her how to play poker and how to ride a bike. Who'd vanished without a trace sixteen years earlier.

“Hey Peanut,” he said quietly.

Tears filled her eyes and she had to grip the chair arms tightly to stop from bursting into sobs.

You were right. All this time you were right.

She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but something inside her held her back, as if she was afraid that touching him would break the spell. That he would vanish in a puff of smoke as soon as she put her arms around him, the way he had so often in her dreams.

In a fluid movement, Theo sank down on his haunches in front of her chair, his hands now clasped loosely between his knees. He was watching her carefully and she simply stared back, her gaze roving over his handsome face, cataloging the changes the years had wrought.

When he'd been twenty-one, he'd been fresh-faced, a golden boy with his angel face and his stunning smile. The privileged son from a high-society family, Ivy League and blue blood all the way through. Nothing could touch him, nothing could tarnish him.

Sixteen years had passed, and he still had those looks, but time and experience had definitely tarnished them. There were lines around his eyes and mouth, walls thicker than a bank vault behind those green-gold eyes, and the easy, friendly warmth he used to project was gone. That beautiful smile was still there and yet there was an undercurrent of danger to it, of menace. Like a sleeping tiger, beautiful to look at, but liable to take your hand off if you touched it.

He'd looked like an angel once. Now this angel had clearly fallen far from grace.

What had happened to him? Where had he been? And why the hell was he here now?

“You have questions,” he said, his voice was gentle and deep, the Theo she remembered.

Violet had to clear her throat. “Oh, only a couple of thousand.”

His smile softened, but for some reason it didn't reach his eyes. “I can imagine.”

“What happened, Theo?” She leaned forward, nearly trembling. Now that her voice was working, she couldn't seem to shut up. “Where did you go? What happened to you? Why did you let us believe for so long that you were dead?”

“Curious, Peanut? You haven't changed.” The smile curving his mouth didn't waver. “Did you get the memory stick?”

The change of subject was so sudden, she at first couldn't process the question. “Memory stick? What—” And then she stopped, remembering what was in her pocket. “Yes. I did. But I haven't had a chance to see what's on it.”

“Information. I even updated it.”

“You were the one who accessed the storage locker weren't you? I was so sure it was you.”

“Actually, an associate of mine accessed it. But the intention was the same. To update that stick and to leave you a hint that I was still alive.”

And he was, wasn't he? Crouched down in front of her, very much alive.

“You should have called me,” she began. “You should have—”

“There were reasons I couldn't,” he cut her off calmly. “Believe me there were a great many reasons, all of which I can't explain to you now, though I wish I could.” Slowly, he rose to his full height once more. “But this isn't the time or the place.”

Violet stared at him, her heart thudding. Okay, apart from her dead brother who was apparently not dead after all, there was something not quite right about this whole situation. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. “What's going on? Why am I here? In fact, how the hell did I get here in the first place?”

“Some employees of mine brought you here.”

“But how did you find me? I mean—”

“Violet,” Theo said quietly and with such absolute authority that she fell silent. “Listen to me. I don't have time for long explanations, but you have to know I've been trying to get you out from under Dad's thumb for a while now.”

“What?” She couldn't quite process that one either. “Get me out? How?”

Her brother's gaze was impenetrable. “He wanted to use you, do you understand? You were his princess and he wanted to marry you off, firm up alliances to strengthen his empire.”

Something froze inside her. “How do you know that?”

“I know a lot of things.” He smiled again, faintly, though this time the smile was the one she remembered, full of warmth, making his eyes glow. “Don't be afraid. I know my methods to get you here were drastic, but I had to change my plans quickly after Dad was killed.” The smile faded and she had the sudden impression that she was teetering on the edge of a chasm she hadn't realized was right beneath her feet. A chasm he'd led her right up to.

“Theo,” she said, her voice echoing strangely in the room. “What's going on?”

He didn't answer immediately, reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone, looking down at the screen. His thumb moved, tapping out something. “I can't tell you everything, but now that I've got you, I'm going to make sure you're safe. You need to leave New York, get out of here for a while.”

Shock coursed through her. “Leave? What are you talking about?”

Theo pressed another button then pocketed the phone and looked at her. “You can't stay. Dad's little empire is in chaos now that he's gone and there are a thousand people out there who wouldn't mind taking control of it. And because you're his daughter, some of them will try and use you as their ticket to power.”

The shock was icy cold. “Me?”

“You're a useful bargaining chip, not to mention the fact that certain people will expect you to know things.” He lifted one golden brow. “If you think the past few days were a one-off, think again.”

Her brain struggled to process what he was saying, because how did he know what had happened to her the past couple of days. “I don't … Theo…”

He held her gaze, a strange sympathy in his eyes. “I know about Elijah, Vi. I know he held you captive.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

“Did he hurt you?” The question was soft.

“N-No.”

“Good. Well, you're safe now. I'm organizing a jet to take you out of the country, get you out of circulation for a while. No need to worry about passports and things, I've got that covered.”

“Theo.”

“I thought since you liked France, you'd prefer to take another holiday in Paris. I've arranged accommodations and—”

“Theo!”

For a second his eyes glittered, cold and hard, as if there was another man looking at her. A man who was not used to being interrupted and did not like it one bit. Then the cold thing was gone, and he was her brother again. “I know this is hard, Peanut. You'll just have to trust me.”

Oh no, hell no. He couldn't just appear back from the dead, give her no explanations for anything at all, and then tell her she was leaving the country for an enforced vacation. No fucking way. She was sick of feeling like a goddamn chess piece, a pawn that other people pushed around on a board for their own ends, playing their own games. Games that she knew nothing about.

Violet pushed herself out of the chair, her heartbeat thudding. “No,” she said. “I'm not going anywhere. Not until I get some answers.”

He stared at her, a steady, assessing look that was somehow quite cold. As if he was trying to decide whether she was an enemy or not. “Answers to what?” There was only mild curiosity in his tone.

“Oh come on, seriously? Answers to everything. Like how do you know all this stuff? How did you know I was with Elijah? That we'd be in Battery Park? Do you even know what we were there for?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “You were there to meet Jericho.”

Jesus Christ, she could really do without anymore shocks today. “And how the
fuck
do you know that?”

His mouth quirked and for an instant, he was again the brother she knew. Warm and funny, teasing. “Keep up, Vi. I thought you would have worked it out by now. I always told you not to take anything at face value.”

And the realization poured through her, stealing her breath like a plunge into an arctic stream on a cold winter's day. There was only one reason he'd know what had happened in Battery Park. And who she and Elijah had gone there to meet. “No,” she said. “You can't be him.”

His expression softened, becoming impossibly gentle. “I can. “

“But…” She shook her head, unable to make sense of it. “Elijah shot him. He was … dying.”

“That wasn't Jericho, Peanut.” A sudden, terrible weariness flickered briefly in her brother's eyes. “I'm Jericho.”

 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The SUV had barely come to a stop in the small alleyway before Elijah threw the door open and leaped out, his Colt already in his hand. Eva had told him that the tracking device was broadcasting from the building across the street and that Gabriel, Alex, and Zac were already there.

Fucking bastards. He knew he should be grateful to them and that without them there was no way he'd be able to find her. That it didn't matter who got her as long as she was safe. But he wasn't grateful. He wanted to be the one to find her.

Especially since you were the one who got her into this mess in the first place.

The thought lingered uncomfortably in his head as he tore across the street, not giving a shit about the horns that sounded as he dodged traffic.

He couldn't escape the fact that he'd been the one to use her, and though he'd vowed he'd keep her safe, he hadn't been able to make good on that promise. She'd been taken anyway.